


Deuce

by noveltys



Category: Infinite (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Eventual Smut, Guns, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, Murder, Pining, i can't believe i put dongyeol in there but hey i'm trash so, minor dongyeol, myungsoo is awkward just like in real life, think of this as a criminal minds au, will update tags as i go on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-14 00:39:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4543530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noveltys/pseuds/noveltys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a simple Tuesday changes everything for a certain Kim Myungsoo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on aff. Everything I know about forensics is from watching crime shows for years and some Google searches, so excuse any mistakes I make. Also, a lot of the characters have been aged up. 
> 
> Shout-out to Em for reading this over for me and then proceeding to tell me it goes great with Debussy. That's rad.

It’s a perfectly normal Tuesday when Myungsoo’s world suddenly tilts on its axis, and watches him stumble and fall with cheerful indifference. Myungsoo is a man of logic and figures, of functions and formulas and an answer to any and every problem, and yet even with an occupation like his own, one that demands composure and the utmost of calm in the face of the unexpected, a perfectly normal Tuesday, which really was not normal in any sense, changed everything.

Myungsoo works as a detective for the police force in Seoul in the homicide division. Him being inquisitive by nature and coupled with his inherent need to do good, the profession seemed as good of a fit as any. He was neat and organized, and almost clinical in his seemingly-effortless apprehension of the city’s worst criminals, making him, as of before Tuesday, the youngest in the force at the age of twenty-four. He was, in all aspects, a model employee; he worked hard on the cases assigned to him, followed his training pointedly in crisis situations, and left promptly as soon as his shift was over and his work was done, arriving on time and leaving on time as well. 

Being the youngest had already painted a bright crimson target on his back, and his numerous successes did nothing but feed the fire, however it was his lack of acceptable social skills that created a rift between him and the people he worked with. Myungsoo didn’t interact with them much, and he couldn’t even pinpoint the reason as to why not. He was not shy, not nervous nor unassertive; he simply didn’t speak much, was rather introverted and kept to himself, and as a result was thought of as cold and arrogant; a crime-solving virtuoso who believed himself above the rest. He isn’t perfect like he’s made out to be - a regular prodigy in his field - and he pretends he doesn’t see the looks he gets when he comes in at the break of dawn each morning, and concentrates on his assigned cases.

So he leaves when he’s done for the day, goes back to his small apartment with minimalist, monochromatic decorations and a worn leather couch, watches television maybe, sleeps away images of blood and mutilated flesh and the vacant stares of the dead, then does it all again the next day. It is tiring sometimes.

His partner, as it was required to work in pairs, for safety and security purposes, of course, is a slight woman named Sujeong, who had seen more atrocities in her lifetime than one should ever behold, and as a result carries a look upon her face as if she would rip one’s throat out with naught but her fingernails should they displease her. Myungsoo isn’t too close with her, but she’s the best thing he’s got, and their minds click well when the stress of solving a case rests heavily upon their heads, making it hard to do anything but infer and unravel and decipher until the case is solved and justice prevails. Myungsoo doesn’t know much about her personal life, but he knows on the field she’s sharp; quick with her mind and even quicker with a firearm. Sujeong doesn’t think of him as pretentious and smug, and is all he could have asked for in a partner. And then she wasn’t.

“They’re transferring me,” Sujeong had said, over a quiet lunch break between just the two of them.

“What?” He had asked dumbly.

She nodded sadly in response. “Missing persons. They feel like I’d be better in the office than out there, in the action.”

“And do you want to go?”

“Not really,” she sighed. “But it might be nice to take a break for a bit. Only for a little while, you see.”

She hadn’t really meant for a little while. Sujeong had had her share of battle, at least firsthand.

So Sujeong’s desk, beside Myungsoo’s, had been packed up, pictures loaded into little blue boxes with pink polkadots and notes and diagrams and push pins put together, and she had moved across to the other side of the building, leaving a large, immaculate emptiness in her wake. Myungsoo had stared at the place where she used to be and wondered why everything felt so wrong.

Myungsoo says hello to Sujeong on a Tuesday morning, enquiring about her case - an upper class, middle-aged woman reported missing, nothing outstandingly special or anything to be concerned about - but not asking too many questions, because that would be out of line, as it would be contravention of disclosure. He drinks coffee, an Americano, _always_ , except on the hottest yellow summer days when he prefers his coffee iced. He mulls over some paperwork at his desk, which is everyone’s least-favourite part of the job but he doesn’t mind; he likes the finality of finishing something and binding the truth to official documentation.

It’s a beautiful sunny day when Lee Sungjong, the new transfer, is assigned as his partner.

He’s from Gwangju, lean and tall and unconventionally beautiful, and Myungsoo is dumbstruck as the newest youngest member of the force introduces himself politely. He traces the lines of his face: pink lips and a straight nose, a freckle on one side and bangs brushed nonchalantly out of large eyes with a graceful flick of his head. He’s too much to take in at a first glance, and as Sungjong hesitantly begins to put down some stuff on Sujeong’s deserted workspace (a picture of Sungjong and his family, a stack of neon sticky notes, and a plain, beige folder), Myungsoo finds himself taking many, many more glances, hoping that he won’t notice. 

But Sungjong catches him staring and raises an eyebrow, dignified even then, and yeah, Myungsoo’s been completely knocked off his feet.

_______________________

A few days afterwards, Myungsoo and Sungjong are called out to a scene (their first), to a relatively nice neighbourhood in the far-reaching suburbs of Seoul. He and Sungjong had so far engaged in small-talk, but it was infrequent and insubstantial (“Do you have a pen?” “Yeah, here” “Thanks”). Sungjong has already effortlessly made friends, spinning some sort of magic to enchant everyone around him, and Myungsoo feels more than a bit awkward as he pretends to not watch him go to lunch with half the team, smile like a miniature sun. Myungsoo texts his best friend about his problem and receives nothing but a dreary “srsly” in response. So much for that, then. Apparently his reputation precedes him and he overhears that one guy who deals with organized crime telling Sungjong it was a pity he was stuck with Myungsoo. 

“He’s kind of like those drama leads,” he had said, hushed, by that upside-down water jug thing that dispenses drinks in flimsy paper cups and is probably the single contributor to overflowing landfills and global warming. “You know, at first glance he’s really handsome and so obviously perfect, but as more episodes go by you realize he’s kind of an asshole, and the second lead is a better choice in probably every way?” 

Myungsoo doesn’t wait around to hear Sungjong’s response. Doesn’t think he can handle it. Anyway, the guy wears brown shoes with his black pants, so it’s not like his opinion is credible.

Myungsoo’s dozing when he gets whapped on the head with a folder by his boss, is sharply told an address and, in the kindest of ways, to move his ass. He jumps to attention and grabs his stuff, only to see Sungjong waiting patiently for him a few metres away, suited up and ready, and Myungsoo remembers he is no longer Seoul’s golden boy. 

Sungjong drives the black work-issued vehicle that tries so hard to be inconspicuous, it isn’t. (“I drive. I always drive,” Sungjong had said, and Myungsoo didn’t have a chance to argue back, because Sungjong had slipped into the driver’s seat and was buckling himself in. Next time, Myungsoo vows. Definitely.) He spends the rest of the ride reticent, like he usually does, but lowly uttering directions every once in a while, because Sungjong wasn’t quite used to the chaotic Seoul streets yet. 

They’re filled in when they arrive, duck under police tape and meet one of the officers, who, as steadfast as the ticking of clocks, always complains about how they never arrive quickly enough, and Myungsoo zones out as the guy - he doesn’t even know his name, doesn’t care - starts to complain about something or other. He’s heard enough about this man’s problems for him to still be irate multiple lifetimes over.

Female, they’re told. Early twenties. Lives alone. Body found when the neighbours filed a noise complaint because they had been hearing constant vacuuming for hours, never letting up. When security had entered, they found the vacuum still on and the deceased in the living room, and quickly called the police.

Myungsoo and Sungjong take the elevator to the fifteenth floor of the apartment complex, where more people are mulling about and getting in the way of the crime scene, including nosy neighbours peeping from behind partially-closed doors, as if they think they’re being discreet with their snooping. Myungsoo and Sungjong flash their badges and get through easily, dodging lingering police and others to reach their destination.

Someone is snapping pictures, and everything has been untouched except for the vacuum, which has been turned off, but left in its original position. The apartment is tiny, cozy, typical for a single person, and decorated with mismatched furniture; a striped couch, a glass coffee table, and intriguing, but diverse artworks of nature that didn’t seem to go with anything in the room. Light spills through sheer curtains and illuminates the room and the corpse on the floor. The woman is lying face-up on the white rug in the living room, blood staining the carpet beneath her head. Her eyes have been scooped out of her skull, gone, and blood has dried in rivers down the sides of her face.

“No sign of forced entry,” Sungjong murmurs, after they set their stuff down, and the photographer snaps more pictures in the background. The windows aren’t broken, the door to the balcony is closed and locked, and even so, the woman’s apartment is on the fifteenth floor, making it incredibly difficult for the unsub to come in that way.

“We’ll have to get the footage from the security cameras in the building,” Myungsoo says absently back, concentrating on the cadaver intently. This is what he does best, and from his peripheral vision can see Sungjong adopting a similar look of fixation and centrality.

Sungjong crouches beside the woman, unfazed by the state she’s in, much like Myungsoo is, and Myungsoo takes out his own camera, taking a few pictures himself. Myungsoo hears the rubbery snap of gloves and looks up to see Sungjong patting down the woman, and, when finding nothing but a buy-one-get-one-half-off coupon for shampoo and lint in her pockets, which he bags just in case, he begins to examine the body, tilting her head to the side.

“No ID on her, but it’s probably in a purse or something.”

Myungsoo grunts in agreement, and spots a bag on the kitchen counter. He takes a photo, flash sparking brightly, before going through it, gloves on. He finds a wallet relatively quickly, a Coach knockoff, going by the stitching, but ignores that.

“Choi Sujin,” Myungsoo declares, so Sungjong can hear, not that he’s far away. “Age twenty-one and recently accepted into Dongduk’s Women’s University, according to her student card.” He flips through her credit cards and finds nothing out of the ordinary; she’s carrying a few bills and some change and not much else. One of those stamp cards that get you a free coffee when you buy nine. A business card for a local dentist. A picture of an older couple, perhaps her parents.

Sungjong dictates his findings out loud to Myungsoo, clear and professional, and Myungsoo is more than impressed given it’s his first case in the major league, but Myungsoo supposes he wouldn’t have been transferred had he not been exemplary. “She has ligature marks around her neck, and there are bruises forming around the area. It’s definitely not from a chain, but it could be from some sort of fine rope or cord.” He turns her over on her side slightly, exposing angry dark stains, careful not to let her fall. “Blood coagulated on her back, by her spine and arms, so she was lying in this position when she died, or at least for an extended period post-mortem, and likely hasn’t been moved since. No other bruises or marks.”

Myungsoo finds keys in her bag, chapstick, toiletries, some more loose coins, and a cell phone: the latest model of that line, which strikes him as odd, but it was her finances not his. He seals these in an evidence bag.

“Rigor mortis has set in in her face and neck, but not anywhere else yet. It hasn’t been too long since she died; two or three hours.”

Myungsoo walks over to where Sungjong is still crouching and inspects the scene, contemplating. “There’s signs of struggle: the stool has been knocked over and some of the pillows from the couch have landed on the floor.” All things have been swept off the coffee table as well, although the table doesn’t seem to have been moved and the glass is still intact.

“Not much other than that, though. Whoever killed her was very efficient.”

“They came in and surprised her from behind,” Myungsoo agrees, “while she was vacuuming. Strangled her, took her eyes and then left. No one saw a thing.”

Myungsoo looks at the woman, lifts one of her hands gently. “Some of her nails are broken. She might have put up a fight, but it doesn’t look like she got any blood from our murderer under there.”

“Take a sample anyway,” Sungjong decides. “You never know.”

And Myungsoo rises from his crouch, looking down at the scene, Nikon loosely forgotten in one hand. “Her killer knew her.”

Sungjong peers up at him. “Because they took her eyes?”

Myungsoo nods. “They were aggressive, angry; they strangled her and felt her life leave her body slowly. Then, they made sure she would never see anything again. And they took her parts with them. This was not a random murder.”

Sungjong is silent, and glances at him strangely with large, bright eyes, and Myungsoo doesn’t know what the quizzical expression means.

“So,” Sungjong starts. “What did she see?”

_______________________

Sungjong has a board of pictures of the victim and the shots they’ve taken at the scene, accompanied by hand-written post-it notes in the brightest of pink. He stares at them for hours, willing them to show him something he’s missed. It’s an interesting case, but also so bizarre, and the more they look into it the stranger everything becomes.

Myungsoo comes up behind him, cautiously, making enough noise whilst walking so the other doesn’t startle. But he probably wouldn’t have anyway. The past few days have revealed Myungsoo’s partner to be strong-willed and fearless, independent and astute. Which did nothing but strengthen Myungsoo’s admiration for the other - as well as his pathetic crush - that would ultimately go nowhere, he knew. Nothing good could arise from liking a co-worker. It didn’t stop him, though. Myungsoo fell hard and fast, and this time he was tumbling rapidly towards nothing but unyielding pavement and had to wait in fear for the inevitable impending impact. 

Sungjong turns before he reaches him, and lets out a soft noise. “I interviewed some of the people living on her floor,” he greets drowsily. “They didn’t know Miss Choi well because she had just recently moved in, not even a month earlier. Apparently she was polite, though. But that doesn’t help us,” he sighs, and it’s less of an exhale and more like a prologue to expected sleepless nights.

Myungsoo itches to touch, because that’s what he does with friends and people he’s close to; comforts with with the easy press of his hands and embrace of his arms. His best friend, Lee Sungyeol, had long accepted this and resigned himself to near-constant touches and feigns annoyance when he gets hugged for too long. But Sungjong doesn’t give off the air of someone that wanted to be reassured in that manner - at least not in public - or perhaps just wasn’t comfortable enough with Myungsoo to do so. Sungjong was surrounded by people but felt very distant. Either way, Myungsoo was uneasy about it. 

So he opens the folder he brought with him, the reason why he was here, and starts to pin grainy black and white photographs to empty spaces on the board with colourful tacks. 

“I accessed the surveillance footage of the building,” he explains. “Our victim was estimated to have been murdered between the times of 11:00 AM and 11:30 AM. I’ve gone through the footage - twice - and the only possible suspect we have is this man.” Myungsoo points to a crude, gray, invariant figure wearing a baseball cap over his face and carrying a backpack. “He comes in through a side door at 11:04 AM, along another resident who holds the door open for him, but they part ways afterward. He didn’t have a keycard for the doors, so I’m assuming he was waiting for someone to let him in.” Myungsoo’s direction then flicks to another picture of an elevator interior. “He gets in the elevator and gets off at floor fifteen, the only person that does so in the allotted time of Miss Choi’s death. He then gets back in the elevator at 11:28 AM - there are no cameras on the floors other than the one which houses amenities and the parking lots - and leaves with his backpack, looking no different.”

“So that must be our murderer,” Sungjong finishes.

“It could be,” Myungsoo replies. “He’s definitely a suspect in any case.”

“The pictures are too fuzzy to make out his face, though. He knew what angles the cameras were at.” And Myungsoo squints at the photos. “See, here?” Sungjong says, gesturing. “In every picture he’s tilted his head so the camera doesn’t get any forgiving angles of his face. He did his research.”

“It’s almost nothing, then,” Myungsoo sighs, defeated.

“It’s something,” Sungjong responds confidently, focus sharp. “It’s more than we had before. We have a lead.”

Myungsoo sees the same tenacity in Sungjong that brought himself to the top. And Myungsoo admires him a little more still, a happy little warmth blooming in his chest. 

_______________________

Myungsoo had dealt with families of victims countless times and it never got easier. It felt as if a giant beast had swallowed his heart with jagged, gnashing teeth and he had no choice but to be dispassionate and distance himself. Myungsoo was emotional, felt things too deeply, and his mother always said it was because his heart was too big for his chest. This was as painful as it sounded, vascular organ pressing up brutally against his ribs and bruising itself as a result. 

Choi Sujin’s mother wept as he tried to inquire further about the life of her daughter, and he sat at one end of the cold metal table in a phlegmatic grey room whilst Sungjong comforted her with a gentle touch on the shoulder. There wasn’t much they could do for her, and their part of the job didn’t include counselling, rather questioning, and _this_ , not paperwork nor filing nor dealing with cantankerous co-workers, was his least favourable aspect of his work. 

Choi had previously lived just outside the Gangseo district, which Myungsoo raised an eyebrow at, but her mother had insisted she stayed out of trouble, despite the notorious area. She waitressed, as her mother reluctantly admitted that their family was not well-off, had encountered financial issues frequently, and Miss Choi worked for years to save up for university. It was not the grades that were her problem, but money. After being accepted she had moved into an apartment closer to where she would be attending, a history major hoping to become a teacher, and their last conversation was over the phone a week or so ago about how well she was doing, how happy she was to be there. Choi didn’t have a lot of friends, but she had a small number of very close ones, and no enemies as far as her mother knew; no vengeful exes or anyone she owed favours to. Her criminal record was blank; a pure white sheet of paper and a thousand unanswered questions to her death that mocked Myungsoo mercilessly. 

Myungsoo and Sungjong return to the board, staring unblinkingly at photos of the apartment and junk on the floor and the body until their eyes begin to water, but there’s nothing they can see. Myungsoo wants to kick something, tear at everything in frustration. He doesn’t, and goes home at the end of the day to look up at his stippled white ceiling in his empty apartment all night long in bed, unable to find rest. 

Sungjong does the same.

_______________________

Myungsoo arrives the next morning, weighty bags underneath his eyes, and fully expects to shuffle through photos and evidence all day long. He greets Sungjong with hot chocolate (even though it’s mid-August and sweat drips down his temples when he goes outside) and Sungjong, looking just as tired as Myungsoo felt, is visibly surprised at the gesture, and even more startled when he takes a sip and there’s extra whipped cream on top. Myungsoo himself isn’t too fond of sweet things, but apparently Sungjong is.

Sungjong looks at him a bit strangely over the rim of his cup, but doesn’t say anything. It’s obvious he’s wondering how Myungsoo knew what he liked to have to drink, and Myungsoo is relieved that he doesn’t ask, because he wouldn’t know how to explain it, probably ending up bumbling along in his explanation or saying precisely three words before falling silent. It wasn’t as if Myungsoo had spied on Sungjong, rummaged through trash cans to find his discarded styrofoam cups and use all of his training to determine what exactly had been in there, only to buy it for him the next day. Simply, he was at his desk when Brown-Shoed Asshole, as Myungsoo had taken to calling the guy who had compared Myungsoo to a drama protagonist (regardless of finally finding out that his name was Lee Donghyun) had gone for a coffee run and Sungjong had mumbled his order into glossy photographs between thin fingers. He didn’t drink coffee, he said, not ever. But a hot chocolate would be lovely. 

Myungsoo feels more than a little smug that Donghyun hasn’t garnered any attention from his partner, Sungjong barely acknowledging his worthless presence, and Myungsoo peeks over the papers he’s going through to see Donghyun frown and walk away, not asking Myungsoo what he wanted, but that was commonplace. Rationally, Myungsoo knows that, like Donghyun, he’s got no claim over Sungjong whatsoever, however the minor rejection has him hiding his dimples behind interview transcripts, and he tries not to think about how the drama leads always get the people they love in the end.

So Myungsoo sips his coffee at his desk, sifting through more evidence in order to find something, just _something_ , that will help them find the man on the security tape. Forensics got back to them: the scene was clean; no fingerprints or any other indicator that the unsub was there. Even the victim’s fingernails were clean. Myungsoo expected as much, but it still frustrates him. The imprint on Choi’s neck, on the other hand, matches the cord of the vacuum cleaner, so at least they have their murder weapon. The eyes are still a mystery. Sungjong’s theory is that their killer keeps them as trophies of his grisly victories, probably on display somewhere, and Myungsoo grimaces at that.

Then the call comes.

Sungjong and Myungsoo are ushered into their boss’s office with haste only exercised when something was serious, and usually not in a good way. Myungsoo learns that Sungjong goes still and silent, head bowed down slightly, when receiving the seriousness of authority. 

There’s been another murder.

_______________________

The case turns austere when the next body is found: a boy was found stabbed in the chest lying in bed, duct tape covering his mouth and his eyes removed from his now-gaping sockets.

The board, once bare and unmarked, teems with photos and notes and printed pages of data, seemingly a lot of information, but lacking in answers. It is different, now that they’re probably dealing with a serial killer, noting that although the murders were different, the expulsion of the eyeballs is consistent, and are taken out with as much precision as last time, unwilling to damage the prize. They have more people working on the case now due to the enormity of its potential; it’s no longer their own and everything they’ve compiled is being run through by sharp new eyes.

Sungjong lets out a heavy exhale, drawing it out into the room, and leans back into his chair, uncharacteristic of him, as he usually sits with the strictest of posture. “So,” Sungjong says. “Jeon Junyoung was an only child; sixteen years old with a record as thick as a phone book, including everything from assault to public indecency to petty theft. As a result, his parents had him on house arrest, with his phone and other communication devices confiscated. Two nights ago the couple had gone to one of those couples retreats that help save your failing relationship with a simple 5 or 10-step program and some massages. They returned early this afternoon, only to find their son dead upstairs.”

Myungsoo stops turning the black pen he’s juggling between his fingers. “The unsub has been watching them. He knew when the family was out and when his victim was alone. He didn’t even have to break in; the kid’s window was open and he climbed up to the second storey easily. He’s opportunistic and intelligent. Which ultimately means dangerous.”

Sungjong hums in agreement. “The family is well-off, obviously. I’ll get a warrant for the footage from the cameras they have on the exterior of the house, provided they actually record something and are not just there for show.”

“We’ll be lucky if we get a fuzzy blur recorded of our guy,” Myungsoo groans, running fingers through his hair in an attempt to ease his headache. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt, though.”

Myungsoo had had cases develop and require more investigators than just him and Sujeong frequently, as such was the nature of the conglomerate cases that he had been designated. He never enjoyed them, because although more people meant a higher chance of the crimes being cracked, and quicker, he often found things to be more cluttered. People got in the way and made things strenuous, and he didn’t have the presence he usually had when there were fewer. He didn’t like that part of himself; the one that held back in group settings. It did nothing but make him exasperated on the inside. Except apparently he was a riot whilst drunk, but unfortunately he never really remembers those moments, or if he does, they’re banished by his insufferable headaches the morning after. Thus, he much prefered it to be just him and his partner investigating leads.

Lee Sungjong was beyond fascinating. He was contrived of the most extreme binaries wrapped up in an impermeable mystery. Myungsoo likely spends too much of his time taking him in, however can’t bring himself to regret it. It’s not the undisclosed secrets that Sungjong has that draw him in, because although Sungjong is a puzzle, it’s not his job, nor a silly, trivial game to try and fit everything together. Instead, it is the things he finds out, what Sungjong chooses willingly to show him, that hold weight. He’s drawn to him by the things he knows about him, not the things he doesn’t.

Sungjong is opinionated. Like Myungsoo (at least with work), he shares his ideas without hesitance, and is eager to discover something new. He’s smart, resourceful, and a hard-worker, but both of these traits are undermined by his determination. It’s how he got to be in the position he is now. He spends long hours steadily working, unfazed by Myungsoo resting his eyes occasionally, because he’s sure Sungjong notices. Myungsoo appreciates that their boss doesn’t hear about that, but also doubts he would be seriously reprimanded, as he does complete his assignments admirably. Sungjong is a dizzying mixture of introverted and extroverted, sometimes being very loud with the people around him, but at other times completely immersed in his head for hours. He speaks quite a bit, but gives little away about himself, about where he comes from and who he is. Other times he is so quiet Myungsoo almost forgets he’s there. Almost. He wouldn’t really. Sungjong is bright, optimistic, and demands attention. It’s difficult to pinpoint what exactly makes Sungjong Sungjong, but Myungsoo is undeniably interested, and for more than just his obvious beauty.

He proves himself in this moment.

“Myungsoo,” Sungjong begins in a soft tone. “Look at this.”

And Myungsoo is hovering over his shoulder almost before he’s finished speaking. Sungjong holds out the photos of the interior of the juvenile delinquent's bedroom, specifically that of the small night table beside his bed.

“What is it?” Myungsoo queries, unsure of what he’s supposed to be seeing. There’s stuff on the table: a lamp, a digital clock, and some small, random trinkets.

Sungjong points to the center, to a die, with the side with three dots facing upwards. There’s blood on it, residue from the brutal stabbing. “This is strange. The boy had no board games, except Operation in the dusty depths of his closet, but that doesn’t require a die. It looks out of place to me.”

Myungsoo stares at the photo, but he’s not sure if it’s solid evidence of, well, anything. “Perhaps,” he agrees, regardless. Sungjong could be onto something.

Sungjong glares at him and knows Myungsoo isn’t buying it. “When I went back to the Choi murder scene, I found the same object. Exactly.” He flips pictures around, and lands on one with of the junk on the floor that had been knocked off the table. Right in the center, placed so obviously it stares Myungsoo in the face, is a die. Side-by-side, there are no disparity between the two; like they’ve come from a set. Black dots on white.

“She didn’t seem like the board game type either. The die matches nothing really in her apartment. I can’t think of a reason why she would have it. Unless she didn’t, and it’s a message left by her killer.”

“The two is facing up this time,” Myungsoo murmurs. “A deuce.”

And Myungsoo can imagine it. The killer takes their eyes but leaves a die behind. So far, he’s unsure of its significance, but two dice, identical, found at crime scenes of murders with eerie similarities, likely committed by the same person, seemed more than coincidental. 

“Where’s number one?” Myungsoo asks hollowly. And once again, things get more complex.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I was in Germany for two weeks and my grandmother barely has a working phone, never mind internet. So I wrote this whenever I wasn't being nagged at by her. My beta has kind of dropped off the face of the Earth, so excuse any mistakes.

Myungsoo doesn’t go home after work that day, doesn’t want to lie in bed another consecutive night with just his thoughts to haunt him and the uncomfortable urgency of catching their killer to make him restless. Instead, he drives to Sungyeol’s apartment, which is located in this peculiar area that teeters precariously between the heart of the city and suburbia; Far enough from the action to be safe, but still close enough for life not to be dull, which is just how Sungyeol likes it.

Myungsoo doesn’t even call beforehand to alert Sungyeol of his arrival, something he really should stop doing now, as he had dropped in unexpectedly twice recently when Sungyeol had, well, company. But Myungsoo forgets to do that, and Sungyeol simply rolls his eyes when he opens the door and sees him standing there and says nothing, just steps aside to let him in.

“Don’t worry,” Sungyeol says dryly, when Myungsoo makes himself comfortable on his couch. “It’s not like I was planning on doing anything tonight.”

Myungsoo gives him a happy smile in response, one that makes his eyes turn into little upside-down grins, because there’s no heat behind Sungyeol’s crankiness. He probably wasn’t doing anything that night anyway, just watching television and wallowing in his own astringency, alone and miserable. So, Myungsoo gets right back up and goes in for a hug, and Sungyeol’s arms are tighter than they usually are, squeezing around Myungsoo’s shoulders, confirming that both of them needed this more than they would ever admit.

Sungyeol is tall, considerably so, with a handsome face and droopy, sad eyes that make him look like he’s about to cry even when he wears a bland, neutral expression. He has wide shoulders that Myungsoo enjoys wrapping his arms around, and smells like something that Myungsoo can only describe as dusky yet non-threatening. He shows his gums when he smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Myungsoo had met Sungyeol years ago, when he was still working his way up in rank, running almost entirely on caffeine and sheer willpower, but mostly caffeine. Naturally, the two met in a coffee shop, where they collided with some sort of undeniable cosmic force, a burst of intergalactic proportions, Myungsoo spilling his order on the front of Sungyeol’s shirt like an extraordinary sort of nebula. Now, of course, Myungsoo considers the other his best friend, and vice versa, after some apologizing in the form of a new shirt and a free coffee, and a long talk that lead to an exchange of numbers.

Lee Sungyeol had always been slightly rough around the edges, taking the form of bleary disappointment shrouded by a sarcastic exterior, and only recently had he begun to be happy again. He struggled with bouts of depression, described them as “highs” and “lows”, like tides, and Myungsoo helped, quite a lot, but sometimes not even his company and marathoning dramas was enough. 

Sungyeol thought himself unlucky with love, joked bitterly that he was cursed, like something out of fiction, but then he had met this outlandish guy named Jang Dongwoo, a tiny man with a booming voice, and Sungyeol stopped thinking of jinxes and catastrophe. The first time Myungsoo met Dongwoo, all he remembered was teeth, because he was constantly chattering away, and what Dongwoo lacks in stature he makes up for with a personality that seemed greater than what his body could contain. He brightened rooms with his bizarre laughter and had the ostensibly supernatural ability of making everyone around him smile when he did. He was also even touchier than Myungsoo, who was a little surprised in the beginning about his proclivity for patting and/or groping everyone’s butt, but embraced it because like Myungsoo, Dongwoo used touch as a tool of communication, as odd as that sounded. Most importantly, regardless of how eccentric the man was, Sungyeol seemed more cheerful when Dongwoo was around. But since Dongwoo was working a great deal as of late, Sungyeol evidently missed his companionship, displaying this in the form of moping around his apartment and mass-baking, taking great liberties with recipes while he was at it.

“We can get take-out,” Sungyeol suggests, plopping down on his couch in front of the TV. “I’d ask you to pay, but since you’re no longer the best in your division, your salary has probably suffered. Or at least because you keep looking at the new transfer instead of working.” 

Myungsoo groans, hiding his face into the blanket draped over the back of the beige couch. “I’m never telling you anything again.”

Sungyeol laughs and begins to flip through channels at the speed of light, remote ready to take off from his hand and zoom into infinity and beyond. “His looks are probably of idol caliber if he has you this smitten.”

“It’s not his looks,” Myungsoo explains, defensive. “It’s more than that. He’s something otherworldly; something brighter than the sun and that’s the best way I can put it. He hurts to look at.” Myungsoo either stumbles along for long minutes or says next to nothing, and this is one of the times where the latter applies, words completely failing him when expected to justify his gigantic crush on Lee Sungjong.

A sigh. “You’ve got it bad, man.” He leaves it at that, but Myungsoo knows he’ll be teased more about it later.

Sungyeol settles on a channel with a medical drama playing, which they’ve never seen but that’s not really the point. They end up ordering take-out, and Myungsoo still does pay because, as Sungyeol declares, with a hand poised dramatically on his chest, “You’re a famous detective, and I’m just a commoner, slaving away in advertising!” Sungyeol then desperately asks for his autograph, and Myungsoo has to push his face away roughly for him to stop. They also order out because the both of them can only cook well enough to barely keep themselves alive. Sungyeol claims he can cook eggs, but Myungsoo has had the misfortune of tasting those, and can verify that he absolutely cannot. The mass-baking when Sungyeol is feeling low is unmistakeably a complete calamity. Always.

They’re engrossed in the show when Sungyeol questions gently, “How is the case going?”

Myungsoo can’t tell him the logistics of the case, however he does inform his friend about the overall status. “We have barely any leads, and next to nothing on our unsub. It’s difficult.” The atmosphere sours for a moment.

“You’ll figure it out. After all, they have Seoul’s best detective on it!”

“Thanks,” Myungsoo replies grimly.

“No, not you.”

And Sungyeol makes a strangled shriek as Myungsoo ricochets off the couch and chases him out of the room, styrofoam take-out containers flying, eager to punch the smug grin off his face, uncaring of what the neighbours might think.

_______________________ 

It’s late, and Sungjong and Myungsoo are still working, and Myungsoo feels as if his eyes are bruised; they hurt from staying awake, and words on pages start blurring together in intricate dances, in a language he doesn’t understand.

“How are we going to find number one?” Sungjong mumbles to himself, staring intently into space, past pinned documents and photographs. “Presuming, of course, there’s a number one to find.” 

“Even if number one is not one of these two,” Sujeong replies, “at least you’ll be helping me with my own work, and that’s wonderful. Productivity, right?”

Myungsoo snorts. As much as he’d like to help Sujeong out regularly, missing persons isn’t his field, and they’re only consulting her because this lead was pure desperation; they were following this like laboratory mice in a maze and neither of them knew if they’d ever find the way out. 

Their current situation had commenced in this manner: Sungjong and Myungsoo had come from a meeting, distressed about the case, but no closer to a lead despite the team they now had. 

“There’s been no murders similar to these ones in Seoul’s history, and no bodies have gone through here with their eyes missing. We have nothing,” Sungjong had lamented, cursing the man in the elevator.

And there had been a pregnant pause, and Sungjong could have probably seen Myungsoo’s thoughts run by in the air around his head like endless lines of binary code, similar to something in the Matrix, and he had looked at Myungsoo questioningly. 

“Maybe because no one’s found the body yet,” Myungsoo said, stopping them both where they had been walking. Someone bumped into them from behind at the sudden halt, swears at them coarsely, but they don’t notice.

And so they had rushed to Sujeong – and not anyone else, never – with the request form all filled out and ready to be adhered to. The South Korean police force was remarkably unified; like an intricate honeycomb of interconnectivity with a singular force overseeing the entire country and sectors working collectively. Myungsoo didn’t know how it worked elsewhere, but they were lucky that precious time wasn’t wasted with more complicated ways to request data from other divisions. Luckily, Sujeong was still there, holding her head in her hands in a familiar position of anguish and fatigue. There were papers piled up high on her desk, almost hiding her from view, and one of the fluorescent lights flickered above her in a disturbing heartbeat.

Now she adopts a more relaxed position in Myungsoo’s desk chair, watching them intently as they look over her data and statistics with tired eyes.

“Give us a summary,” Myungsoo says with distain, after seeing the stack of papers she had arrived with. Sungjong had begun to read through them, but gave up in favour of staring blankly, a face Myungsoo had come to recognize not as giving up and attempting to become a single-celled organism in any way possible, but rather an expression that occurred when he was in deep thought, and trying to connect the dots, envisioning three-dimensional maps and tracing red string through places and times and the deceased.

Sujeong rolls her eyes and gives an exaggerated sigh, then pushes off from Myungsoo’s black chair and stops beside the board Sungjong has erected, shuffling some papers together before she does so. It’s dark outside, and they’re some of the last few in the building, for sure, the few windows with the blinds up reveal busy streets down below. The yellow lamps on the desks paint darkness on the underneath of Sujeong’s face, and she looks determined standing up there; fearless in an intimidating way. Myungsoo was never good at these sort of debriefings, and left it up to her to speak back when they were partners, him being but a glorified prop dressed slickly in black.

“In the last month there have been two people reported missing in Seoul and its surrounding suburbs.” Sujeong pins up a picture of a man in his early thirties, a sufferer of premature baldness and Seoul-induced exhaustion. “Kim Youngmin from Guri. Last seen at a convenience store at 10pm almost three weeks ago, a few days before Choi Sujin was found. He was buying ice cream and chili powder, which the employee on duty only remembers because it was so strange. He doesn’t make it back to his house, and his friend, who was visiting at the time, called the police.”

“And then?” Sungjong asks. “He can’t have just disappeared.”

“We’ve traced him using security footage from the area,” Sujeong answers, “but we lose him a block away from his building, in the dark spaces between streetlamps. We haven’t got much on him; his case has essentially gone cold.”

Myungsoo feels the familiar ache of a migraine commencing, but Sungjong seems unaffected, writing something down in a notebook in front of him. 

“Our other case is Kim Jangmi, and unfortunately we have even _less_ information on her.” Sujeong gestures to a photo of a woman in her forties, Myungsoo would estimate, with neat side-swept curls and pearl earrings. Myungsoo knows immediately that she’s rich, but not from her clothes or neat demeanor; she possesses an aura of wealth that seeps through the printed paper, as well as the distinct look of constant cosmetic surgeries. Her skin looks too tight in the middle, too loose around the edges, and her eyes bug out slightly. “Residing in Gangnam, Kim Jangmi left her home two days before Kim Youngmin. She had a maid who came by a few times a week, whom she had told that she was going out for the night. She then got into her car and never returned home.”

“Do we know where she went?” interrupts Myungsoo, absent-mindedly folding the edges of the papers in his lap in a bastardized origami. 

“She didn’t tell her maid where she was going, which was apparently common because her employee wasn’t alarmed, and we haven’t found her car. I’ve searched through recordings of highway traffic and have got nothing. I don’t think she went out of the city, so she must have stayed in her area, or she would’ve been picked up on film somewhere.” Sujeong lets out a barely-constrained yawn. “Both of these cases are nothing substantial; they’re fragments of moments that just don’t fit together. They’re all yours.”

“Kim Youngmin and Kim Jangmi were both out when they disappeared, but Kim Jangmi’s case is definitely more mysterious,” Sungjong utters, in his characteristic soft voice that Myungsoo wants to hear infinitely more of. 

Sujeong hums in agreement, but doesn’t reply, just settles against the board with a slight lean back, arms crossed. 

“And they were all alone,” Sungjong continues. “Choi Sujin and Jeon Junyoung were physically separated from everyone, and now these two.”

“And you think they’re related because of that?” Myungsoo questions. “The fact that they were isolated?”

Sungjong shakes his head. “Not necessarily, but it’s something they all have in common.”

That makes Myungsoo contemplate things in the way that he does when he’s wholly devoted himself to solving a problem; the kind that requires every part of his mind and all of his attention. Myungsoo knows how to get inside a killer’s head, which was why he was so successful in his endeavors. He knows how people think, but him being so in tune with emotions is what was truly advantageous. Emotions were reason, fact and procedure. He knew Choi Sujin was strangled because her murderer wanted control, wanted to feel her struggle and die in their hands, and he felt that. Perhaps that was what sometimes kept him awake at night the most.

So he asks, “Is Kim Jangmi married?”

“She was,” Sujeong answers, in a dull voice that is reminiscent of long hours of memorization and looking through files. “Her husband died four years ago of a heart condition and she didn’t remarry. If you’re wondering, Kim Youngmin has a girlfriend.”

“A rich older woman living by herself doesn’t exactly scream murder victim,” Sungjong says. “Other than her money, what motivation is there to kill her? What could she have done?”

And Myungsoo realizes Sungjong sees the world through bright, optimistic lenses. He thinks people are inherently good; an innocent-until-proven-guilty kind of guy. In an indirect way, he is gullible, tricked into thinking the best of people when Myungsoo is well aware that the truth is contrary. In their line of work, it was dangerous to think this way, where people are mortals, wrapped up in layers of confidences to protect their dirtiest deeds from the view of others. They didn’t deal with good people.

“She did what the others did, I suppose.” Myungsoo says. “I’m sure she has secrets. We’ll just have to find them.”

_______________________

“The obvious suspect would be the maid,” Sungjong says over his shoulder as he parks the unmarked vehicle they’ve been given. It’s black and sleek, and Myungsoo had wanted to drive, once again, but history is doomed to repeat itself in some instances and he finds himself riding shotgun again and feeling mildly disgruntled. 

“That’s too obvious,” Myungsoo sighs, unbuckling his seatbelt and feeling the sharp run of it against his shoulder as it zoomed back into place by the door. “She’s our only suspect and as soon as Kim went missing she’d have to know we’d go to her first. It would be stupid of her if she did do it.”

“I didn’t say it _was_ her,” Sungjong shoots back, evidently annoyed. “I just said she was a clear choice; the one everyone’s going to go for.”

Myungsoo doesn’t usually get into arguments, confrontation doesn’t suit him, and he could see this one forming like an oncoming storm, threatening to strike should he say the wrong thing. Sungjong thinks Myungsoo doubts his abilities – which isn’t true – and doesn’t like when people brush him off as incompetent, or less than anyone else, when he isn’t. Myungsoo figures that this used to happen to him a lot, by his aggravated tone of voice, and Myungsoo wouldn’t ever want him to think that he was stupid and not good enough. 

“Hey,” Myungsoo says in low, soothing tenor even deeper than his usual voice. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant that, although the maid is the primary suspect, it’s likely not her. I don’t want to give the impression that I think your thoughts are invalid and that you’re below me somehow.” Myungsoo had no problems apologizing for things he did wrong, didn’t boast an inflated sense of pride common of those of inner-city Seoul, and he would be kicking himself until the day he died if Sungjong hated him and thought him an arrogant bastard. 

Sungjong looks a little taken aback by this, and gives a tight little nod before exiting the car, leaving behind nothing but the lingering scent of something distinctly _Sungjong_ , something wonderful that Myungsoo cannot name (both spicy and sweet at the same time), and he fumbles a bit with the door handle, somewhat dazed by their interaction and its results.

The decision to investigate Kim Jangmi first was unanimous, partly because it was an older case, but also because of the incongruity of the events that left even steel-minded Sujeong reeling. So they arrive at her house in Gangnam, and it’s a _house_ , with a porch and everything, and Myungsoo looks at it with a little bit of awe, both out of impression and the bleak realization that classism was an even larger problem in this country than previously thought. 

They have a warrant to look around, hoping to find some clues about who this Kim Jangmi is and what she could have been doing the evening she disappeared, to take a second look at what Sujeong and her department had already combed methodically through. And as they step into what could be called a vast entranceway or front hallway, whatever those rich people called those, after shutting the front door, Myungsoo chances a look at Sungjong to find him just as mesmerised and overwhelmed as he is, but with it visibly showing on his face. There’s a chandelier handing from the ceiling and extravagant polished tile on the floor that leads into hardwood in the next rooms. The interior itself resembles something out of a furniture catalogue or design magazine, but Myungsoo doesn’t really care for the colour scheme, preferring the simple over the elaborate, although just as expensive. Everything looked like it was bought specifically to complement with the stuff around it; no wonky mismatched paintings or vases from people that you couldn’t throw away, and had to display for them to see when they came over so they knew you appreciated it. In short, the complete opposite of Choi Sujin’s home. 

“This place doesn’t look lived-in,” comments Sungjong, after he’s gotten over the affluence of the hallway. “It’s almost cold.”

It’s not something Myungsoo immediately sees, absorbed in the design choices he disagrees with, but after Sungjong mentions it he starts to notice the lack of personal touches. Like this was a staged setting and not a person’s actual home. But maybe Kim Jangmi was just that kind of person that kept their private things very private. Sort of like Sungjong, but considerably more extreme.

Three weeks without a maid and dust has begun to settle on some of the more prone objects. They make their way through a living area, with couches adorned with throw pillows turned towards a table, and then into a dining room that leads into a large and expensive-looking kitchen.

“She definitely liked things organized,” Myungsoo says, opening a drawer (with gloves, of course) and finding trays separating cutlery and other kitchenware. “She’s meticulous. She always had a plan. Probably opinionated.”

“She doesn’t have any pictures of family or friends anywhere,” Sungjong calls from another room he’s wandered into. “But Sujeong said she interviewed some. You wouldn’t know it from this place.”

There’s not much else on this floor but a small bathroom (“A powder room,” Sungjong laughs). Myungsoo puts back a fruit bowl he was looking at – after determining that yes, those bananas are fake - and follows Sungjong, who’s climbing the stairs to another level, where he assumes the master bedroom to be. 

Nothing on the second floor is particularly interesting. The bathrooms have a beach theme (“Creative,” Myungsoo mutters, and that makes Sungjong snicker softly), and the bedroom, like everything else, is immaculate. Sungjong goes through her drawers and her dresser, slamming things shut probably harder than he should, and Myungsoo simply stands by the doorway, contributing naught, observing instead. Kim Jangmi has all her clothes organized (by colour and season) and her jewelry laid out on the top of a dresser, her numerous earrings hooked into one of these stands that once again, Myungsoo has no name for. It’s neat and tidy.

Sungjong picks up a silver bracelet with a red heart dangling off of it, and it’s rather nice, certainly the classiest thing Myungsoo’s seen in Kim Jangmi’s home. Sungjong puts it back after a long moment. Looks around a bit more. Rifles underneath the bed. Touches the thick drapes that cover tall windows.

“Well, that was useless,” Sungjong says as they’re driving away. 

“We know nothing that Sujeong doesn’t already know,” Myungsoo agrees. It’s raining now, sheets of it hitting the car in tumultuous blast, and the weather outside appears to be just as happy about their search as Myungsoo is. 

“We could still investigate the disappearance of Kim Youngmin,” Sungjong suggests. “Or perhaps try interviewing Kim Jangmi’s friends and family.”

“You read the transcripts. They have no clue what’s going on. Kim Jangmi is not the kind of person to tell her friends everything that happens to her. Especially whatever she’s hiding.”

“She seems so opposite to the two other cases. I’m not sure if we’re just wasting time with this. The longer we wait and tour houses in Gangnam, the less likely we are to solving these murders.”

“Obviously there’s something we’re missing; a connection between Choi Sujin and Jeon Junyoung,” Myungsoo says.

“They were both relatively young, but that’s the only similarity. Choi Sujin was a hardworking university student who never got into trouble, while Jeon Junyoung had a knack for chaos and was attracted to danger like a starving man to a four-course meal.”

“They’re just as opposite to each other as they are to Kim Jangmi.” Myungsoo grasps at this moment that getting Sujeong’s aid in their investigation has done nothing but complicate things. For everyone. 

“And maybe they fit together like this; because they’re so different,” Sungjong replies. 

Maybe, Myungsoo thinks.

_______________________

“I called back some of Kim Jangmi’s friends and family for more interviews,” Sujeiong opens with.

Myungsoo’s sitting at his desk, pretending to be working when in reality he’s playing with his pen and daydreaming, thinking about things not related to work. He doesn’t really think he’s fooling everyone, because when he glances up, one of the girls from IT gives him a strange look as she walks by, the kind that sort of says, “ _this_ guy is the best detective in Seoul?”

Sungjong is reading something intently on the relatively modern desktops they’re provided with, and when Myungsoo’s not wiggling a pen back and forth between his fingers or tapping out a beat, he’s trying to subtly stare at his partner. This also doesn’t go unnoticed. 

Myungsoo’s thinking about what obscure colour would describe Sungjong’s eyes when the sun hits him right, and how his skin’s porcelain finish is broken by that freckle on his nose (which he loves), and all sorts of other ridiculous things when Sungjong suddenly turns his head and looks right at him. Naturally, Myungsoo fumbles with the pen he’s holding and drops it as he jolts half a metre into the air like he got struck by lightning. This sudden shock is quickly replaced by a deep-seated resentment of himself and how he ticks, because this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. He’s supposed to be suave and totally cool in every situation, but somehow he’s pretty sure he comes off as a nervous wreck or a gigantic idiot. 

This entire internal breakdown occurs on the backdrop of Sungjong’s throaty chuckles, so Myungsoo doesn’t feel completely abysmal about himself. 

Myungsoo has noticed that Sungjong has two different laughs. He has the deeper, stilted giggles that transpire when he’s amused, like now. Sungjong uses that one in most situations. But there’s also the gaspy one, where hardly any sound comes out, until there’s a high-pitched noise Myungsoo could only call a squeak, and he’s only heard this once, when someone was telling Sungjong a funny story. This is Myungsoo’s favourite laugh, and it’s evident that this one makes an appearance when Sungjong’s really happy and he can barely contain himself.

Myungsoo thinks it’s very sad that he knows all these things, learned all second-hand, evidently. There’s probably better ways to put his deductive abilities to use, but at the same time he doesn’t feel bad about it. It’s all very conflicting. 

“Do you need help with that?” Sungjong asks, turning in his chair to face Sujeong. 

“I’ve got Jeonghwan on it with me so don’t worry.” She makes a gesture with her hand.

Sungjong shrugs and turns a bit to type something on his keyboard quickly.

 

Sujeong looks at Myungsoo. “Anything new with your eye-stealing murderer?”

“Nope.”

“I looked into Jeon Junyoung’s background some more,” Sungjong chimes in, ignoring Myungsoo. “Turns out he has an even longer record than we thought. Of course, the neglectful parents are partly responsible for his behaviour. I don’t think they really knew what to do with their child.”

“It’s always how they’re raised, isn’t it?” Sujeong questions, rhetorically. “I’m never having kids. So much to screw up. It’s scary.”

“I love kids, so that’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Sungjong says. Both Sujeong and Myungsoo glance at him interestedly, because Sungjong barely shares things like this, and both of them eat it up. Myungsoo’s pleasantly surprised by this confession, and he feels that recurrent fondness his chest reserved for when Sungjong does or says something Myungsoo likes. Which is quite often.

Sujeong has her mouth open like she’s going to say something, when her name is called, and looks around and then checks her watch.

“Shit, I gotta go,” she says urgently. “I’ll send you what I get from the interviews, alright?”

She’s gone before they can reply, leaving a bewildered Myungsoo and Sungjong in her wake. 

A few minutes of silence later, in which Myungsoo forgets what he’d been neglecting to do and tries to download Minecraft, Sungjong gets up from his desk. “I printed some stuff off. Want to take a walk with me?”

There used to be a printer – three actually – on the floor they were on, but they all broke a few months back and Myungsoo presumed management was too lazy to fix or replace them, so whenever you wanted to print or copy something, you had to go down two floors. Coincidentally (or perhaps not), the closest room with a printer (and spare supplies) was in the same area of the building as their soundproofed rooms they held interviews in. 

Myungsoo gives a small “Yeah sure” in agreement, and Sungjong leads them down to the elevators, and then through chilly stone hallways that are representative of floors with no offices on them. Like Myungsoo had presumed, Sungjong bypasses the printer room with not so much as a pause in step, and they hear the echoes of voices magnified by the empty hallway. Myungsoo admires his determination and dedication to the case, obviously going to check out the interviews regardless of whether Sujeong wants them there or not.

Sungjong turns a corner and then quickly jumps back behind the safety of the wall, bumping into Myungsoo in the process. The voices are more clear, and there’s an unknown woman speaking with Sujeong, who’s explaining the interview process. Sungjong seems to stop and think about something, then just turns the corner anyway, and greets Sujeong. 

Sujeong looks kind of displeased that they’re interrupting her work, but her frown eventually eases as Sungjong talks his way through it. She’s standing with an older woman and Jeonghwan, whom Myungsoo doesn’t know at all. The older woman introduces herself, and she’s just as well-dressed as Kim Jangmi, with diamond jewelry and designer clothing and a matching facelift. She’s polite and doesn’t say much, and Myungsoo kind of thinks it’s strange she would be friends with such a forceful and opinionated Kim Jangmi. Myungsoo himself doesn’t say anything, doesn’t really know what to say, because he just came along for no real reason other than to watch Sungjong at work.

“Your necklace,” Sungjong says suddenly, directed at Kim Jangmi’s friend. Myungsoo missed a large part of their conversation, but it probably didn’t matter. “It’s lovely. Where did you get it?”

“Oh, it’s a family heirloom. My mother had it, and before her my grandmother,” she explains. “It’s been passed down through my family. I used to have a bracelet, but I’m afraid I’ve misplaced it.”

Sujeong studies Sungjong with a questioning look, but he just thanks the woman and says nothing after that. The necklace has a silver sort of design, with a red heart charm, and Myungsoo looks right at Sungjong – who’s looking right back – when he finally gets it. 

Then a phone rings, loud and echoing off the cement walls. It’s Myungsoo’s, and he picks it up despite the strange tension in the air. It’s upstairs, and it’s not good news. 

“There’s been another one,” he announces solemnly, after hanging up, and Myungsoo knows for sure missing persons has been a distraction, not an advantage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story time. The day I got to Germany I was jet lagged as fuck because I had essentially been awake for two days. My grandmother is... well, I'm not too sure how to describe her, but she believed she had cleaned before I came over. Unfortunately, she didn't and there were spiders (big ones, not just your tiny house spiders, but like. ones from outside cause she never closes her windows) everywhere. Upstairs in my bedroom there had been a sort of moth invasion, and I had to clean out the carpet because there were (and I'm not exaggerating) thousands of moth cocoons/larvae in the rug and some grown ones flying everywhere in the room. It was the grossest thing I have ever experienced and then I couldn't go to sleep that first night because I kept thinking about how many bugs were in my room. So I didn't sleep for roughly three days it was great. Also on this trip I watched my grandmother violently squish a wasp with her spoon, and then use that same spoon two seconds later to eat ice cream. I'm so glad I'm back.


End file.
